One Cool Cookie
by Gilpin
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a visit from a passing Dragon Keeper to bring to the surface things that were so well hidden people didn't even know they were there. Remus and Tonks, OotP.


Written for, and dedicated to, **Wild Magelet**, as a prize for winning the **GrandNational **fic sweepstake at LiveJournal. The request was for a romantic R/T fic, with a bit of angst (I may have misread a bit as 'quite a bit';)), an appearance by Charlie Weasley and Jealous!Remus. So she got this instead. ;)

_**One Cool Cookie.**_

_**Sirius**_

It's the little moments that count, or so they say. I never used to notice them at all, never thought they counted for much in the grand scheme of things, but spend enough years in a twelve by eight cell and you'll sit up and pay attention to what's going on around you all right. I'm something of an authority on it now.

So…

Normal evening at Grimmauld Pile; ancestral home to countless wastrels, wankers and other local unworthies of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. Normal threesome sat round the kitchen table surrounded by empty beer glasses, crisp packets and pork scratchings brought over specially. Moony's being thoughtful again, ever since I started reminiscing about nights at The Strawberry Duck, up Monmouth Hill, and Tonks turned up with stained beer mats she said Arthur had stashed away in the bottom drawer of his desk, along with a selection of Muggle car magazines she's going to rib him about in front of Molly. Normal conversations about Order business; what an imbecile Fudge is, three ways to poison Umbridge and get away with it, does Moony keep a second set of Exploding Snap cards up his sleeve as he wins so much etc. etc., and then I start to drift off.

The other two have been out all day but I'm the one who's always tired first. Funny, that. Besides they don't need me. Not sure anyone does nowadays, apart from Harry.

Moony's always been good company right from the start, telling stories, then listening to you with his full attention and making you laugh with some dry comment at the end. Tonks can match him, too; she listens, she's a good story teller, and I've said to him before that not many women are. They get side-tracked, forget the punch line, or suddenly get half-way through and remember they need the loo to repair their hair or something. Moony told me I was a chauvinistic dinosaur but I still think I've got a point.

Anyway I'm watching them through blurry slits, hoping one of them will stoke the fire as there's a draught round my legs but they're far too engrossed. Tonks is in the middle of a tale about some pompous new bloke at work, who gets colleague's names wrong on purpose to get a rise out of them. Course she hates her first name but he doesn't realise this yet so uses her surname, thinking it'll annoy her. Moony's half laughing already, shaking his head and rubbing his fingers lightly across his forehead, knowing just where she's going with this. She's really having a dig at him and his propensity for calling her Nymphadora just when she least expects it, and she's having difficulty getting the words out as she's laughing, too, as she teases him.

That's when it hits me. Only a little moment but it's like a double whammy for me and them.

Moony, I realise now, has never been teasable. For all that he does for other people, whether as a sounding board or a witty companion, he just doesn't get teased. It's in no way due to a lack of humour or humility – let's face it, he's got more of both qualities than anyone I know – but you have to take in order to be teased and Moony gives all the time. I've seen him with girls in the past, and everyone in the present, and he's always the one that does the teasing to others. But this, now, from Tonks, who is leaning across the table towards him, eyes shining in the shadowed light, he is sitting back and taking. And enjoying, if not revelling, in every minute of it.

The skeleton clock on the mantelpiece starts to strike twelve but neither of them notices. I close my eyes because my lids are suddenly heavy with this amazing new information and feel myself start to slip away. Moony'll shake me in about an hour or so, and I'll wake with a crick in my neck and the familiar headache, but there will be something else to think about for once to make the days and the nights go a little bit quicker.

They're crazy about each other. Head over heels. And they haven't got a bloody clue they are.

So…

What's going to wake them up to it? Or who?

_**Remus**_

Sirius has been on about this for several days now and it makes me distinctly uneasy. Although not for the reasons it should, which is what really causes the unease. Today's onslaught started at breakfast while I was trying to read the paper and persuade Molly I wasn't ill just because I couldn't manage all four slices of toast as well as bacon, sausage, mushrooms and tomatoes. Conversation then moved on to Bill and Arthur being stricken with this stomach bug that's doing the rounds, which is why Molly is flitting between the two houses at present, Charlie being due home for a brief visit from Romania, and Sirius' absolute fixation with Tonks' visits here, interspersed with the resident house elf's latest successful attempts at vandalism.

Kreacher's cupboard under the stairs contains the boiler and pipes and we've suddenly found the answer to why there's been so many burst - or chewed – ones lately. A copy of _Magick Most Evile_ has disappeared from the Black Family's idea of a little light reading shelf, which explains why a standard _Reparo_ doesn't work. The upstairs bathroom is currently out of bounds and so is the room Tonks uses when she stays over. You're liable to get an icy shower from the pipe directly above the doorway as the house owner inadvertently discovered yesterday.

It takes ages to get Sirius off the subject of what he's going to do to Kreacher when he catches up with him, and now, at lunch time, there's only one other thing he's interested in. Which is Tonks.

"She's always with you, Moony, always makes a bee-line for you when she's here."

I'm trying to concentrate on the cryptic crossword – two down, eight letters, _pretty girl in crimson rose_? – but I make a show of looking to either side of me and under the table.

"No sign of her now. She must have got lost."

He shoots me a triumphant look. "She'll be here soon. It's lunch time and she always manages to pop round under some pretext or other. Odd how Kingsley never moans about the Ministry food like she does. And what about last night?"

"What about last night?"

"What time did you finish? One? Two? What were you talking about all that time?"

"Nothing." I shrug, because it had been nothing in the way he seems to be insinuating. Which was as something noteworthy, or out of the ordinary. "Anyway, you should know, you were there."

"I went to bed at twelve." This time the look is even more smug and I could kick myself for walking into whatever trap he's set because now he's mentioned it, yes, I do have a dim memory of him bidding us goodnight and Tonks and I chatting on for a bit longer over a couple of gins and the dying firelight.

But so what? We'd talked about the Order, Grimmauld, the Black Family; touched lightly on our own families (I'd switched subjects soon after because she wasn't comfortable talking about hers to any great degree, which made two of us), before moving onto places and people we both knew. Nothing much at all, except it was easy and equally easy to lose track of the time. Until I was reminded by the hour chime that she had a job to go to and I didn't. We said goodnight and walking back to my room, changing, getting into bed, I was still running through our conversation, thinking of other places I could mention and other people she might know, too. As I fell into sleep, Tonks' voice was still with me, in my head, still _on _me somehow.

Nothing much at all. But I didn't want Sirius trampling on it all the same.

"She likes you. As in _really_ likes you." This is pronounced with an air of being the final word on the matter so I hope it is and go back to the crossword.

_If crimson__ means red…_ "What's another word for a pretty girl that's also a name?"

"Huh?" He frowns at me. "I don't know, don't change the subject. I said she likes you. Tonks likes you."

"Good. I like her. I wouldn't like to think we spend all this time together and really hate each other."

"Stop it." He reaches across and puts his hand on the newspaper. "Moony, _please_. I know you know what I'm getting at."

"Have you considered I don't want to get at it?"

Silence. He just looks at me. Almost sorrowfully.

I start to put the quill down and then change my mind because I want something to do with my hands. "Don't go there."

"So you admit there's somewhere to go?"

Suddenly I'm angry with him. Or me. Or both. Because in some way, whatever I say now is going to spoil the friendship Tonks and I have. I won't be able to think about it without remembering what's been said out loud and made real.

"Why won't you leave this alone?" I say it very quietly, trying to get through to him that we're not back at school now, that I can't be talked into things when I know what the consequences can be.

That irrepressible grin and a hand pushing the long, shaggy hair back is my answer. "_Well…_," he laughs, "I could say that for once in your life your chances of getting shagged are a lot better than mine, and you should definitely make the most of it, but—" he holds his hand up hurriedly, before I can say anything, "--really, I think it's because she deserves you."

I've been resting the end of the quill against my mouth and I splutter so much that some feathers stick to my tongue and I spit them out. Which thankfully makes us both laugh. Of all the things he could have said, he typically picks the most ludicrous.

When I can speak again, I give him a look to make sure he knows this is a one time only, one way discussion. And it's going to be brief.

"Let's say, just for the sake of argument, that it has occasionally, very,_ very,_ occasionally, crossed my mind to wonder if a twenty-three year old Auror with all her life ahead of her would see any future in a possible relationship with a thirty-six year old, unemployed and unemployable werewolf, who lives in a decaying mansion with his annoying friend. And a portrait of the friend's mother," I add, as an afterthought. "Now this might seem strange to you, Sirius, but that passed instantly out of my head as verging on the ridiculous and wildly unfair to one of those concerned, and was replaced by this more permanent thought - I like Tonks very much and I want her to be happy. She wouldn't be with me." I take a breath. "I'm glad that she wants to spend time with me as a friend. End of story."

There's a pause. "Definitely no regrets then?"

"None."

"What happened to the Moony I knew? The boy, no, the man, who took chances and was sometimes a rebel?"

"He grew up and realised what kind of world he was living in." I stare at him as the door bell goes. Funny how I can tell Tonks by her ring. I wait for Mrs Black's scream but all remains quiet. "You are a genius, you know. Pretty girl in crimson rose?_ Rebelled._"

"How appropriate." He stares back. "You going to get that? It'll be for you."

"Ha ha." I get to my feet as he adds, "So you're going to be content like this, are you? Compromising? Making do with crumbs? Not fighting for her?"

"There's no one to fight," I say, mildly. "No battles because I'm not taking part. The fair maiden is quite content with things the way they are and so am I."

"Great. Everything's just dandy, then. Till she gets a boyfriend and you'll wonder for ever more if it could have been you."

I'm prepared for that eventuality, I think, as I go up the stairs and start down the hallway. Braced for it. It'll happen one day soon and it'll be … fine. I'll get used to seeing less of her but, hopefully, we can stay friends. If we can't, I'm prepared for that as well.

Amazingly, Mrs Black hasn't woken up for once. Must be my lucky day, but I open the door very cautiously, just in case.

On the doorstep is a young woman in a vast sloppy sweater which ends somewhere round the knees of her jeans, with a wide studded belt slung low round her waist, topped off by a souvenir Quidditch cap over a shock of springy pink curls. We stare at each other with interest, her dark eyes alive and warm, and her jaw rhythmic with chewing gum.

I lower my wand and she grins at me. Impossible not to grin back.

"Wotcher, Remus." She steps carefully into the gloom of the hallway and stands under one of the dull lamps as she turns to watch me tap the door and we both listen to the chorus of metallic clicks as it re-locks.

"Didn't fancy lunch at the Ministry today, then?" I say, some perverse part of me wanting to test Sirius' theory, although the other part is muttering that I don't need to go there at all.

"What and miss Baked Potato Tuesday at Grimmauld? I haven't recovered yet from that odd chutney stuff you two had piled on top last week." She laughs. "Still a lot more exciting than standard issue Auror sandwiches, trust me. Besides," she looks at me a little hesitantly, while I'm debating whether I should tell her it wasn't actually chutney, and says, very lightly, "I just fancied seeing you, as well."

Then such a tiny thing; meaningless, really, on its own without her words to go with it. She puts her hand up to push a curl of hair back from her cheek and the light catches the side of her face and she … _glows._

Something shifts inside me, some long bottled up emotion that stirs, comes to life. Of course it hasn't been entirely dormant in the past but it shouldn't do it now. Really _can't _do it now when I'm standing so close to her and she's looking at me in that half fearful, half determined way.

Caution and common sense are screaming at me like mad things. Except I don't want to listen any more. I'm waiting for her to say something, anything, that will give me chance to say--

She's still grinning up at me. Positively beaming. "It's going to be such a _great _day!" she says happily. "Charlie Weasley's coming home. Will Sirius have him over to dinner tonight, do you think? He's one cool cookie, you know."

_**Tonks.**_

Molly cries when Charlie walks in through the door. Time was when a few girls at Hogwarts would have done the same. He hasn't changed a bit; stocky, powerful, really brown – or have the freckles just joined up as one, Romania isn't that hot, is it? – and talking of freckles, I'm trying very hard not to think of those days when he used to whip his shirt off at the end of a winning Quidditch match to wave above his head, and we'd all get an eyeful of those muscles and the smattering of gold chest hair. My mate and I used to silently support his team against our own fairly useless Hufflepuff one, traitors that we were.

What a long time ago it all seems. Merlin, was I ever really that young?

"It's all right, Mum." He's disentangling himself, patting her gently on the back. "It's only been three months."

"Nearly four and sometimes you haven't owled every week like you promised!" Molly sniffs, rummaging through her apron for a handkerchief she apparently can't find, but Remus is on hand to give her one of his.

"Yeah, well sometimes the owl flew too close to something it shouldn't, and it and my letter were smoke and cinders." He looks around and grins. "Good to see you again, Remus. Sirius. Sure you don't mind me kipping here a couple of days? Ma says Dad and Bill are still taking it in turns to throw up in the loo with this bug, and much as I hate to miss out on that…"

"More the merrier. I like to cultivate a party atmosphere here." Sirius laughs but Charlie is already looking at me, dropping his rucksack off his shoulders, and stretching his arms out wide.

"Wotcher, Tonks!" He's enveloping me in a bear hug, my feet are off the ground, and he swinging me round. Puts me down and looks at me, head cocked to one side, biting his lip in apparent thought. "I used to be able to do that without breaking sweat. You've put on weight."

"Have not!" I go to slap him and he dodges neatly, tips my cap over my eye as he does so, which I've worn today, partly in his honour and partly to get up his nose. Apparently, I've succeeded. "And what's this rubbish? Falmouth bloody Falcons? Don't tell me you still haven't got any taste!"

"Known for their fair and _hard_ play," I retort. "Which is more than those girly Chudley Cannons ever were. You wouldn't know a class act if you saw one."

A smug look. "That's not what you said that night in Astronomy Tower."

"Why you conceited toss—" I'm about to call him what I always used to, and thump him at the same time, before it occurs to me that neither of these things are a very smart move in front of his mother, who already thinks I'm verging on an unladylike hoodlum rather than a graceful and sophisticated witch. And probably doesn't realise that her precious son fancies himself as able to have most ladies, as well as dragons, eating out of his blunt, square hands.

So instead, I pull a face, meaning _later, mate,_ _I'll have you for that, _and somehow catch Remus' eye over his shoulder and realise my hand is still on Charlie's arm and quickly take a step back. Feeling … I don't know. Suddenly a bit odd for some reason, although Remus is smiling slightly at me in the background so it can't be anything to do with him.

"It's so good to see you, Tonks." Charlie's face is lit up with that characteristic warmth and enthusiasm you can't help but respond to. "Pity I didn't know Sirius here was up for houseguests—" he turns his head to grin at Sirius, sitting at the table, "—we could have had a full class reunion. Can you imagine who'd turn up?"

Can't I just? "Sophie Slack."

"Spotty Penman."

I laugh at the very thought. "Lucy Delaware and her orange legs."

"Tobias 'Toby' Jugg." At which he practically doubles over and howls, even Molly's giggling with us. I clutch my side myself and feel a wave of nostalgia sweep over me, both for Charlie and for that time itself. When I really was young and very innocent, and didn't feel years older than people my own age because I'd seen and done things they wouldn't believe. And mostly in order to protect them and make sure their lives didn't change like mine had.

It sobers me up fast. I've got to make the most of this. Charlie being here, that is. Charlie, the most popular boy in my year, being so chuffed to see _me._

I loop my arm through his, pick up his rucksack. "Come on you. We've all been waiting for you to arrive for ages and we're starving. Which room's he having, Sirius?"

"Hmm?" Sirius sounds momentarily distracted, as though I've caught him with his mind on something else. "Oh, the one that Ron and Harry used. It's one of the few without leaks – my house elf is on a sabotage mission, little bastard, and causing havoc with the pipes."

"I'll sort him out for you." Charlie nods. "After all, he can't really compete with a Ukranian Ironbelly, let alone Tonks here. Ah, the tales I could tell you about her, and her school days--" he swings round and smiles at the person he's face to face with"—Remus."

"I look forward to hearing them." Remus is quiet, polite, fading into the background again as Charlie turns back to me. We start to head for the staircase and I just catch Remus' eye briefly again for a second as we go and there's that strange, odd feeling again, which I can't quite pin down.

Halfway up the stairs, laughing as Charlie is asking me which my room is, just in case he loses his way at night and needs directions – honestly, he hasn't changed a bit, still chances his arm at every opportunity – is when it comes to me and rather stops me in my tracks.

Why it's … _guilt._

It's immediately followed by another thought. What on earth have I got to feel guiltyabout?

_**Sirius.**_

Lunch is a disaster. Correction, every meal's a disaster since Charlie came to stay three days ago. Though to the casual observer, we all look like we're having the time of our lives.

The casual observer wouldn't have a clue, though. At the moment it should be a simple bit of reminiscing, one of a constant flow of memories between Charlie and Tonks to which we're all a mere audience. They've finished explaining that his nickname was _One Cool Cookie_ at school – Molly looks as if she's going to burst with pride, though I doubt he earned it solely for the reasons she's been told. Everyone's smiling good-naturedly, except Moony, who has a blank expression I've only seen a couple of times before, which strongly suggests he feels he reached the end of Charlie's personality about three days previously.

Charlie himself has really just confirmed what I've always thought of him; he's a nice lad, who does a damn dangerous job for a living, and likes to let his hair down when he's got the chance. There's nothing too subtle or bright about him, but he clearly fancies the idea of Tonks and him hooking up for a few days while he's here, and … well, I've got to admire him for his audacity, especially trying to chat a girl up under his mother's nose which I'd certainly never have attempted in a million years. If it wasn't for Moony, I'd probably cheer him on.

At one stage I thought Tonks was keen, too, but I'm not sure with all this bloody boring nostalgia going on that Charlie isn't representing something to her, like muscle bound teenage lusts which didn't get satisfied. She's standing up to help Molly clear the empty trifle dishes – though Molly doesn't look that thrilled with the idea – and a spoon's about to drop except that her two gallant knights are immediately to the rescue. Charlie might have the dragon dodging reflexes but Moony's there a fraction quicker. Which is followed by the hilarious sight of Charlie grabbing his hand for a split second before dropping it like a hot potato.

We could all have ignored it as the trivial incident it is except that Tonks goes bright red, thanks them both profusely, and quite obviously can't look Moony in the eye to save her life. It's then I know he's still in with a real shout, despite the fact that Charlie spent the early part of the meal showing us various impressive burn scars on various parts of his impressive torso, along with a tattoo or three, and that the prat then leaves Charlie to carry all the dishes safely and heroically to the sink while he decides to pick up a book. Apparently he feels _now_ is the crucial time to read the _Encyclopaedia of Toadstools._ God, I could hex him myself.

"So." Charlie's back, leaning confidentially across the table, the ladies having told him they'll take care of the washing up. Bet Molly's wetting herself at that one. "Thought I'd take Tonks out to dinner tonight. Buy her some flowers. Get her in the mood, you know. Any suggestions for where the best place to go is? I'm a bit out of touch."

I wait for Moony, but it seems I'll wait for ever as he's busy turning a page. "Well, there's The Spinning Wh—"

"You can't." Moony shuts the book so firmly both Charlie and I jump a little.

He pauses, just long enough for Charlie's eyebrows to start to rise in a distinctly _why the hell not _manner, before adding calmly, "She told me earlier that she's working a late shift at the Ministry tonight. Won't be home till around midnight."

It's beautifully done. Polite and helpful. While pointing out that Tonks told him her schedule during a private conversation at some point and that the man she's supposedly been spending all her time with doesn't have a clue. Ouch.

"Right. Well." Charlie looks a bit annoyed. "I can still get her some flowers. Blooms the florists still going strong?"

"Yes. It is." Moony is carefully straightening out the bookmark in his toadstool classic.

"Great. I'll get her some pink roses, I think. She's bound to love those."

"Sure she will." I say it, because there's another pause which goes on longer than it should, and the person who should fill it doesn't appear to be interested. "All women love flowers, don't they, Moony?"

"Mmn?" He looks up. "Oh, yes, I think they do. Though, of course, the trick is to buy their favourites."

There's definitely an edge to Charlie's voice now. "Which are?"

Moony's eyes widen slightly in polite surprise. "Oh, I thought you'd know that."

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't be asking."

They look at each other; Moony, calm as you please, Charlie, with two red spots developing in his cheeks. I'm just about to say something, anything, even though I'm enjoying myself, enjoying seeing Moony like this again, when he smiles. _That_ smile. The mysterious, infuriating one he uses when declining to go on and putting a stop to something. I've seen it often enough myself, and I know Charlie's had it now because Moony is the most stubborn bastard I've ever met once his mind's made up about something. And it's clearly made up about playing silly buggers here.

"Well," Charlie leans forward again and something in his face is saying _all right, if you want to play dirty, mate - I've sorted a Ukraninan Ironbelly or two out, and don't you forget it._ "What I do know is that Tonks is planning on sleeping here tonight because she told _me _that, so—" he looks Moony straight in the face "—which is her room?"

Silence. Moony's face doesn't change one little bit. I know what I'd do but he's hampered by being an honourable and kindly soul, who'll no doubt think he's doing the right thing for Tonks. _Shit._ I open my mouth because, firstly, if I'm right about her feelings, then I don't think Tonks will go for this anyway and, secondly, it will be better coming from me, but Moony gets there that bit quicker. Which is why I always say thinking things through doesn't pay for me.

"It's the one right at the end of the corridor. Third on the left from the bathroom." Said very quietly. A note of resignation in the voice.

Charlie nods, a glow of satisfaction making those cheeks shine even more, and without another word Moony gets up from the table and walks away. I look at Tonks, who is watching him go with a tea towel motionless in her hand while Molly chatters on.

So… Not one of those small moments, but now a big one indeed. I don't know which way to call it, either. My gut feeling is that Moony's made a mistake here but it's interesting he's played it that way. Proves that deep down, where it matters, he hasn't changed a bit.

All the rest of that day revolves around what is to come and I think I'll never sleep. But when night finally does arrive, I must have drifted off because the yell brings me roughly back to reality. It's followed by loud and copious swearing, hushed but heated voices in the corridor, and then footsteps going downstairs at a rate of knots followed by much slower, calmer ones.

Time for me to get up it seems. God, I hope Molly's got her ear plugs in.

When I get down to the kitchen, it seems I'm the last to the pyjama party. Charlie is stripping off his sodden ones, with a Black Family bath towel loosely tied round his waist, complete with gold monogram, and rubbing angrily at his wet hair which is standing out in a circle of red spikes.

"Tea?" Moony holds up the pot.

"Piss off." Charlie's apparent halo doesn't seem to mean he's in the business of forgiving.

"Now hang on a sec." Tonks takes a step forward, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing. She's in a pink camisole, grey pyjama bottoms, huge fluffy slippers, and looks both simultaneously shattered and baffled. "I don't know what's going on here but you don't have to take it out on poor Remus."

Sounds like my cue. "No, don't take it out on poor Remus." I grin and sit down at the table, rubbing my eyes. Like the good old days at Hogwarts this is, except it was usually Moony bailing James and me out of the shit. "Milk and two sugars, please."

"_Poor little Remus?"_ You have to quite admire the amount of sarcasm Charlie gets into three little words. "_Poor little bleeding Remus!_" Even better when there's four of them.

"Ssh!" Moony puts his hand up and, of course, we all obediently fall silent.

A definite creak on the stairs. Then another. There's only one other person in the house, as Kreacher is almost certainly currently wedged up a pipe somewhere, and she's clearly no longer asleep.

"Tonks! Get in the cupboard!" Moony grabs her arm, apologises, and propels her towards it.

"What?" There is a mad scramble with Tonks protesting every inch of the way. "But why can't I--?"

"You're in very flimsy night wear on a cold night, woman," I hiss. "With three half-dressed single men at one-thirty in the morning, about to be confronted by none other than Molly Weasley. You remember her – owner of the most sexually repressed household in the wizarding world. Now get in the bloody cupboard and shut up!"

We push Tonks in, bent double and probably unable to breathe, just as Molly puts her head round the door. I wonder why we didn't go for the pantry option which has standing room, snacks available on demand, and free oxygen. Moony casually leans back against the cupboard and crosses his legs as if there for the duration, I move towards the table as if heading there all along, and Charlie, to give him his due, attempts to look as if there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for making tea in a bath towel while slowly dripping onto the kitchen floor.

God, I hope he's thought of one. Apart from trying to get into Tonks' knickers in the middle of the night, of course.

"What on earth are you all doing?" Molly, worryingly, is fully dressed and in anxious and shrill mother mode. "I've just popped home to check on Bill and Arthur, and caught them knocking back cocoa and Merlin knows what else, which they insist is part of their recovery programme. And I get back here to find lights on and voices downstairs. Charlie, why are you – are these your pyjamas? They're absolutely soaked, dear! What have you been up to? Where've you been?"

"I had to go to the – er - come down to the – er - and I didn't want to wake everyone and there was a … leak." His hand tightens convulsively on the towel round his waist.

"A leak?" Molly's brows knit together in consternation. "You mean you used the upstairs one Kreacher's messed about? I thought that was out of bounds! You must have been in there for hours by the look of you. Are you all right? Remus, is he?"

"I should think he's fine now." Moony sounds smoothly reassuring. "I came to check on him and he said—"

"Oh, Charlie, dear – you've got this dreadful tummy-bug, haven't you? You have been looking a bit under the weather, I noticed that tonight, but thought you probably hadn't been getting enough sleep. I've got a potion that will sort you out in no time. It's not very nice to take, but it's very good. I'll go and fetch it."

"No, honestly, Mum, I'm all right now. I don't need—"

There's a faint sound from the cupboard behind Moony, which could either be a suppressed giggle or somebody suffocating. He shifts his legs and smiles at Molly while I'm forced to clear my throat behind my hand. Fortunately, Molly's wavering attention is back on her son as more drops of water join the puddle on the floor.

"Don't be silly, dear. This is no time to be brave. Get back into bed and I'll go and get it. And for goodness sake do a Warming Charm, you don't want to catch cold on top. Have you got another pair of pyjamas? No? Sirius has lots of those navy and purple ones – would you lend him a set, dear? I'll just be a minute. And, yes, Remus, he _could_ probably do with a nice cup of tea as well, to take the taste away afterwards."

She retreats and Charlie shoots a murderous glare at Moony, looking as though he'd give anything to have a wand to hand.

"Remember you're a sick man." I can't resist chipping in, partly to help Moony out, and partly because this is such a laugh, but as I say it Tonks bursts out of the cupboard, nearly knocking Moony flying, and she includes everyone in a look that reminds us that sometimes you just don't mess with her.

"You idiots!" she hisses. "What the hell's going on?"

Charlie is still staring at Moony. "Get me out of this with Mum." His head inclines fractionally towards Tonks. The meaning is clear. _Then I'll get you and me out of this with her._

"All right." Moony nods and I can see Charlie relax a bit because there's no way he wants to tell Tonks of his Grand Seduction Plan, especially when dignity is not his strong suit at the moment, and he thinks it'll solve the problem for them both.

But he's oh so wrong. Because I know at once that Moony will cover for him but he won't lie about his part in this to Tonks.

I try to get in first, to make a joke of it all, but he's too quick for me.

"Charlie went in the wrong room by mistake. My mistake. My fault."

I expect her to burst out at once with demands for further explanations but she says nothing standing there in her pretty pyjamas. Just looks searchingly at Moony who meets her gaze. Both of them white-faced; the lines on his face very prominent suddenly.

He hasn't said much but she's not daft. She's working it out; I can tell from the way she shoots a quick glance at Charlie and it's not flattering. He reddens and starts, "I'm sorry, Tonks," but she's already switched back to Moony and he's forgotten.

"Why?" she says bitterly, accusingly, and the hurt is plain to see all over her. From the way she's standing, to the creases that suddenly appear on her young face as she screws it up. "Didn't you trust me to say no for myself?"

I suddenly wish I was anywhere but here. Then I wouldn't have to see the look on Moony's face as he turns away from her.

_**Tonks**_

It's Charlie's last night and we're going out for a farewell dinner together at the Bag O' Nails, a Muggle pub I've been to a couple of times, which has great food, a lively atmosphere, and usually some, um, _interesting_ group playing. So much so that witches and wizards are always sneaking in and mingling unnoticed. Pink hair won't even get a blink so it's long and straight tonight.

Charlie's bags are packed and stacked outside his door. He's going off at some unearthly hour having decided he wants to pop up to the dragon reservation in Wales while he's here before the journey back. Apparently the Common Welsh Green is as placid a dragon as you get – apart from its tendency to devour a flock of sheep in one go – and they've made great strides in teaching some a few basic commands, like not blowing fire in people's faces. I expect it'll be Dragon Obedience Classes in a few years time and won't that be a fun day out for all the family?

Anyway I know I'm only thinking about that, and sarcastically as well, to linger in the chilly corridor a bit longer and avoid going downstairs. They're all there because I heard Sirius' triumphant cry of, "Got you, you little bastard!" ten minutes or so ago, and it seems that Remus' suggested lure of a trail of grotesque Black Family valuables has tempted Kreacher out of his hidey hole at long last. So now it's all set fair for me to step elegantly down the stairs, attract admiring glances from all directions, and go off for a romantic night on the town with the handsome hunk all the girls fancy.

Only snag with this scenario is that I don't want to go anywhere at all. This has all gone so very, very wrong in such a short space of time, and I think it's my fault, and I may have hurt someone I think the world of. And he's hurt me but the first one is the one that's killing me.

I actually make it three-quarters of the way down before I hit one of the creaky boards and they all look up. Well Charlie and Sirius do; Remus is on his knees by the pipe in the corner which went this morning, and seemingly fully occupied with trying to sort it out.

"Wow. You're certainly worth waiting for." Charlie grins and I think to myself how funny it is that a few days ago I'd have been chuffed to bits to have Charlie Weasley's eyes light up when he saw me in my long, swirly black skirt and lacy top.

I still am, in a way, but it's not in _that _way, and once you know the difference it spoils you for everything else.

He turns to Sirius and gives the much taller man a friendly clap on the arm. "I'll bid you farewell, mate," he says, cheerfully. "As I'm going off at fiveish. Thanks for everything. Remus?"

I watch the familiar head turn to look up at him and smile, offering his hand. The tension between the three of them had lasted for approximately five beers and two games of gin rummy, before suddenly they were all the best of pals, laughing and joking as if nothing had happened in that infuriating way blokes have when they completely disregard any tangle of gut-wrenching and complicated emotion in favour of them all supporting the same Quidditch team. Or some such crap.

"Tonks?" Charlie is looking up at me again, holding up my jacket, and I realise I'm rooted to the spot.

Charlie follows the direction of my eyes. "Remus is insisting on paying for us. I've said he doesn't have to, but—"

"My pleasure." Remus smiles, looking for all the world as if it really is, and for a moment I could cheerfully hex him into oblivion, as he adds, "You'll both make sure you have a great time now, won't you_?"_

Somehow I've got down without the slightest trip – must remember that feeling sick to my stomach helps me avoid troll's feet and suchlike in future – and my arms are in the jacket. Charlie gives me a squeeze and says something about checking that the Muggle taxi he's ordered specially so that we can drink ourselves silly is waiting round the corner as it's bloody freezing out there. Before I've registered what that means, a blast of icy air from the door hits me and he's gone.

I look round frantically for Sirius but he's vanished. Just me and Remus. Him on his knees, still watching me.

"You don't have to pay for us." I can barely get my lips to move and it sounds so sullen. It's not what I mean to say at all, but it's out there now and I can't take it back.

He stands up slowly, straightens up, smoothing the dark grey jumper down. There are blobs of water on it from the pipe and his hair looks damp in places, too, curling at the ends. I can almost see the restraint, the disastrous distance between us since Charlie came and, for the life of me, I don't know how to end it but I want to. More than anything in the world, I want to. Why won't he help me?

Remus is watching me carefully. Maintaining the twelve clear inches of daylight between us as though it's essential. "I want to," he says, softly and then, as my eyes shoot up to his in hope, "I want to apologise."

Now I remember what we were talking about. "No need." I shake my head again at the awful, sullen little girl voice that comes from me. It sounds as if I'm about fourteen and having a strop because I'm not allowed to stay up late.

_Where the hell's Charlie got to?_

"I am sorry." His voice is so gentle. "You were quite right; the decision was yours to make, not mine."

"Dunno." I force a smile. "Now I think about it, a cold shower was probably the best thing possible for him. Saved me kicking him in the nuts."

A soft chuckle. I make myself look at him, though I wish I hadn't as I can't fathom the look in his eyes at all as they seem so guarded. "Remus … We are still friends, aren't we?"

"I'd be upset if we weren't." He hesitates, just fractionally for a second, then leans forwards and kisses me very gently on the cheek.

"I think your escort's waiting," he whispers, his face very close to mine, and then he's backing away to stand by the door, ready to shut it behind me. In the distance I can hear an impatient hooting, and I hug the jacket round me as I go out into the inky black night, thinking of nothing, not allowing myself to think of anything at all. Certainly not the faint dampness of Remus' kiss upon my skin. Concentrating instead on the clouds of frosty breath coming from my mouth which dissolve slowly around me.

This method of extreme concentration gets me through the journey there, the drinks ordering, the menu reading, discussing what we're both having, the first course of melon and parma ham … God, it's endless, and I'm being so mean because it's Charlie's last night and he's such fun. It's hardly his fault Remus and I have had a falling out and it's playing on my mind to such an extent.

"How's the steak? Mine's great." Charlie grins at me, wiping his mouth on his serviette. He looks really nice in his maroon sweater, his red hair neatly smoothed down with what I suspect is Sirius' hair gel, and I've had some bitchily envious glances from a stick thin blonde on the table of a raucous hen night to the left.

"It's great, thanks." I'm watching the couple opposite, holding hands across the table. They look as though they're in their late thirties, married for some time, probably left the kids at home with a friend for once so that they can enjoy a night out on their own. He's gazing at her, she's smiling at him, and I can feel those bloody stupid tears pricking my eyes again. Poor Charlie getting landed with me in a sentimental mood.

It used to be one of my favourite things to imagine who strangers were, what they did, and what they thought of the people they were with. Remus and I used to do it all the time to pass the hours on a stakeout or whatever.

_I wonder if we'll ever do it again now I've buggered everything up?_

Charlie takes a deep swallow of wine and looks approvingly at the glass. "This is good stuff, too. Did you know Remus is paying for this as well? Really nice of him."

That gets my attention. "_What?_ He can't afford all this!"

"Well, I know he can't get a job at the moment, but—"

"He hasn't been able to get a job since he left Hogwarts." I put my knife down clumsily and it clatters to the side of my plate. "Thanks to that cow Umbridge and others like her."

"Oh, I didn't realise th—"

"Yeah, well, there's a hell of a lot people don't realise." It's all right for him, sat there in his smart clothes, with the assurance of a job to go back to, and I start to tell him about a few of the regulations that have been introduced since he was last home. "And, no," I finish off, furiously, "people really don't realise at all. Haven't a clue."

"Right." Charlie is eating his mushrooms thoughtfully. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Realise you're out for dinner with one man and in love with another?"

I'd been about to take a swallow of wine because my throat has gone dry after all that talking but I choke instead.

"_What?"_

"Your food's getting cold." He nods his head towards my plate disapprovingly and sighs. "Bloody hell. I did hope I'd get to the dessert stage before this happened. Banoffi Pie's my favourite, you know; the Romanian cuisine leaves a lot to be desired compared to Ma's cooking."

I open my mouth but all I can think of is to say _what?_ again and I'm sure I've already said that about five times in the last few minutes. So I gape at him instead.

"Can I have your steak if you're going to go?" he says hopefully.

"Charlie!"

He sighs heavily once more, reaches across my plate and spears several chips on his fork. Stuffs them in his mouth. "What's your favourite flower?" he asks indistinctly.

"My—"

"Favourite flower." Another three chips get speared. "Come on. It's not a trick question."

"Um…" I can barely think of _a _flower, let alone my favourite one. "Oh, it's bluebells."

A resigned look. "Couldn't believe it when he said. Thought all girls liked roses or carnations. Perhaps this is where I've been going wrong all these years."

I give him a baffled stare and he elaborates round another mouthful. "Remus." Except I don't think that's much of an elaboration.

"When were you and Remus having a manly discussion about flowers then?" As I say it, I'm remembering the day he and I were watching what we thought was a possible Death Eater meeting house. An absolute tip of a place, old and abandoned with rubbish piled everywhere and yet a patch of bluebells growing wild at the foot of a tree in the garden.

That was almost when I first met him. _Months ago._

"Oh, we've had manly discussions about lots of things. You'd be surprised. Ever since it became crystal clear to me that I'd more chance of seeing an Antipodean Updeye than getting off with you."

"Right." I sit there, head reeling, while he carries on eating from his plate and mine. The stick thin blonde is eyeing us from across the way and I can see her conclusion: _Love troubles._ For one decidedly demented moment, I debate going across and saying: _You don't know the half of it, dear. And you need to wear a better bra than that while you're busy passing smug judgements._

"So are you going then?" He almost sounds hopeful.

"I -- I don't know if he's interested in me in that way. He's never said anything."

Charlie rolls his eyes in a manner Mad-Eye would be proud of.

"Well, why would he be? He's older than I am, I'd probably bore him stiff in a month or so!"

"Yeah, you probably would. Best not to bother then." Charlie picks my plate up and deposits the half eaten steak and everything else onto his. "Mind you, he didn't exactly look bored when you were floating round the kitchen the other night in those pyjamas of yours. Forget the dressing gown, did you?"

"I thought you'd broken your bloody neck with all the row going on! I was in a hurry!" It occurs to me that I ought to be now, as well, and, unable to stop the stupid grin that has attached itself to my face at his words, I get to my feet and grab my bag.

"Yeah. Go on. Get out of here." He grins, good-naturedly. "I'll just sit here like some sad git who can't get a date and hasn't even brought a book to read to pass the lonely hours."

"There's a blonde over there who looks as if she might console you." I point surreptitiously in her direction with my finger and he looks round me with interest.

"Charlie?"

"Yeah?" He's eyeing the blonde and about to stuff yet more chips in his mouth.

I get in just before the fork does, grab his face in both hands, and kiss him on the lips. "Thank you."

He says something about me having no taste whatsoever and that I'm to remember that dragons don't do it in the missionary position as one of them tends not to survive. Then it's the nightmare of getting a taxi because I'm surrounded by people and can't Apparate, haven't got a clue what Charlie paid and I'll have to Transfigure some Muggle money. Followed by the endless, pacing wait till it arrives, getting stuck in a traffic jam which makes me want to scream, and finally I run the last couple of hundred yards or so which all but cripples me as my boots apparently weren't designed for movement.

Sirius comes to the door, looking surprised. "What you done with Prince Charming then, Cinders?" he asks, glancing behind me.

I think about announcing loudly that I've come for Buttons – _I really have gone completely nuts here _– but I mutter some garbled explanation, which wouldn't convince your average five year old, and earns me a disbelieving eyebrow from Sirius.

_Oh sod the niceties. _"Where's Remus?"

Both dark eyebrows shoot up this time. "Come again?"

I haven't got a lot of breath left after my sprint but I manage to indicate that it won't take much for me to hex him. Like now.

"Oh, _that _Remus." He laughs. "Last seen saying something about an early night and heading for his room, book in hand." He glances at his watch. "Mmn. If you hurry, you might just be in time to tuck him in."

Half way up the stairs, I pause and look down at him. "Sirius? You're … all right?"

"Yes, indeedy!" There's a bottle of Firewhiskey and a goblet by his chair about ten feet away from Kreacher's cupboard, which now has a large chain and padlock across it. A wonky circle's been drawn on the top half of the door and as I watch he raises his left hand and throws a dart towards the centre. "Damn!"

I stand there and he glances up again. "I'm fine," he says calmly. "Go on. Go have your Dear Diary moment. Just don't tell me anything about it till I've eaten in the morning."

Laughter gets me all the way to Remus' door, determination gets my hand raised to it and then … I stop. I've rehearsed a speech all the way home in that awful taxi and now all I can think is what if he's already turned in or what if he turns me down?

Or what if he just wants to be friends? I really, truly think kindness would kill me on the spot, and I half turn away before, furious with my own cowardice, I make my shaking hand knock against the door – _oh, bugger_ – rather too hard for a social call.

_Please __let him be there, don't let him be there…_ I'm mumbling silently to myself, even as I hear the calm voice say, "Come in."

There's absolutely no way I am capable of moving but something's taken over, and I don't think it's my brain which makes me open the door and forces my unsteady legs to walk inside a few paces.

I stop and wait.

Remus is sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, flicking through a book. He glances casually round and then stands up slowly, very surprised and instantly guarded. I'm looking at his face, his lovely, intelligent face, and he's so wary, so cautious, but I've seen the expression that was first there for the split second he was taken aback.

"I came to tell you—" Every bit of the planned speech has disappeared out of my head. Apart from Charlie's words of wisdom about dragons. Which doesn't seem the most appropriate thing to say at the moment.

I go up to him, hoping for inspiration. "Remus, I want to—"

He drops the book onto the bed and puts his arms round me, very gently.

"Yes." There's a pause because I can't look at him in case he doesn't feel like I do. "I came to tell you—" I bury my face in his grey jumper and my arms slide up round his shoulders.

"I love you," he says, very quietly, and it's entirely possible that my heart just stops there and then.

"Yes."

"And – you? I don't want to—"

"Yes. Me, too. I came back – I wanted you. I had to come."

"Thank God," he says simply, and then I do look at him and it's all right. His face is filled with so much relief I want to laugh and cry at the same time because I really can't believe this is happening to me. To us.

"Right then." I look at him expectantly and hopefully and nervously, and he's looking back in exactly the same way. "So, um—"

He smiles and suddenly looks as if he's shed twenty years. "Yes," he says, and bends his head and kisses me. Starts off soft, uncertain, and somehow it still manages to take me totally by surprise, which is completely and utterly ridiculous when I've been thinking about little else for the last forty-eight hours. Then at some point it becomes something we're no longer simply trying to do, moves onto something we're actually doing to each other, and we're doing it very fiercely, too. He tastes of gin and I wonder if I taste of red wine, and the feel of his arms holding me, grasping me, and his hand moving in my hair, drives any coherent thought far away.

Eventually we come up for air. Though still so close, we seem to be sharing it.

"Um…" he says, cupping my face, laying his lips to the tip of my nose, my forehead, my lips again, then my chin. Stroking my hair. Moving down my throat. _Oh, God._ I slide my hands up his back and think about sliding them underneath that jumper instead.

"I suppose," he kisses my mouth again and then takes a breath. Draws back a little. "We should take this slow?"

He doesn't sound certain but dismay cuts through me and the euphoria I feel inside. "Is that what you want?" I manage.

"Is that what _you _want?" He's looking at me closely. "I think there are things you should think through. That we both should—" He stops.

Great. Now I get to sound like either a complete tart or get to be respected but frustrated. Possibly a rock and a hard place isn't the right cliché to think of here, either. Clearly the werewolf word is to the forefront of his mind and I'm thinking I'd really like to explain about Charlie. That it wasn't him I wanted so much as something I've never had, never been. I was never one of the most popular girls at school, with all the boys after me; instead, I was the one who was always a little bit different and a little bit is a lot when you're young. Only now I've realised I don't even want that; don't want to be like everyone else. It's fantastic to be me because that's who Remus wants.

We can sort all this out in the morning, can't we? He needs to lose that vulnerable look he's wearing, realise he's the one who is _One Cool Cookie_, and I want to be kissed for dear life again. All over.

"Let's go to bed," I say, adding as I feel his arms tighten and tremble on me, "Though I haven't got any tattoos to show you."

A pause. Maybe I really shouldn't have invoked memories of Charlie right now. No idea which way he's going to go and the heat's rising in my face the longer it lasts. Then, totally deadpan, he says, "That's all right. I have."

I start to giggle but it dies on my lips because of the way he's looking at me.

"Let's go to bed," he says.

_**Sirius.**_

It's hard throwing with your left hand. Funny, really. I'm naturally right handed but it's easy enough to use a wand with the left. And I could skim pebbles across a cell floor, once upon a time, with either.

Bloody hard throwing darts, though, especially after half a bottle of whisky. The cupboard door is peppered with little holes and few of them have made the circle, let alone scored any worthwhile points. There are even some holes in the wall where I've embarrassingly missed altogether.

It's very quiet upstairs, which at least means they're either talking things through or, far less likely knowing the pair of them and their honourable tendencies, getting down to basics. Part of me envies them a bit but, quite honestly, it also seems like a different world. Can't wait to meddle in it with them, though, because I can imagine hours of fun winding them up.

So…

Will they be happy, that's the big question now? Fifty fifty, I'll give them; seems like fair starting odds for any couple. Though I doubt these two could be considered in any way average. But if I get the next dart in the circle, then they definitely will be.

I take a swallow of whisky, line the dart up carefully, and throw. Lean forward to check, but I'm grinning already because the evidence is plain to see, and I raise a toast to my highest score of the night and both of them. Not quite a bull's eye but even so.

Of course I threw right-handed. Now and again, you have to give your friends the best possible chance to make it, don't you?

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**Reviewers get my thanks and appreciation and a chance to find out whether Remus is kidding about those tattoos. Or not. ;)**


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